


Orphan

by Asthenos, Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Michael, Part VI Jason, Physical Abuse, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Asthenos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: I met him fifteen years ago. I was told there was no system in place for dealing with such a young child - no funding, no training, and no one willing to take him on as a patient. So I did what others would not. I accepted Michael Myers as my patient and spent the next decade and a half attempting to coax a reaction out of that pale, emotionless face. While to the casual observer it seemed like I was making no progress, over time I formed a bond with the child.... I had grown quite fond of the boy. Perhaps it had something to do with those blue eyes of his - those sad, lonely eyes. The eyes of an orphan.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Jason Voorhees
Comments: 23
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this idea out of my head as it was driving me crazy.
> 
> **12/17/2020: The rating and tags have been updated!**

_I met him fifteen years ago. I was told there was no system in place for dealing with such a young child - no funding, no training, and no one willing to take him on as a patient. So I did what others would not. I accepted Michael Myers as my patient and spent the next decade and a half attempting to coax a reaction out of that pale, emotionless face. While to the casual observer it seemed like I was making no progress, over time I formed a bond with the child. And when the courts ruled that Michael Myers be released from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium several months shy of his twenty-first birthday - due to a lack of space and a blatant disinterest in the young man who was now deemed to be a helpless mute lacking the ability to communicate, much less threaten anyone - I applied to become his legal guardian. With no other living relatives willing to step forward to assume the role, I was granted the guardianship with minimal hassle and paperwork. But why would a man such as I go to such lengths to house and care for a patient? A bumbling fool of a man who had failed to hold onto his own wife and who knew next to nothing about what the act of fathering entailed. I could have easily washed my hands of Michael Myers and nobody would have judged me harshly for my lack of compassion. But I couldn’t, you see, because I had grown quite fond of the boy. Perhaps it had something to do with those blue eyes of his - those sad, lonely eyes. The eyes of an orphan._

Dr. Samuel Loomis put down his pen and skimmed over his words again, looking for a way to make his thoughts more concise and detached. He was writing a memoir, after all, and not a bloody diary. The reader need not know how deeply he cared for Michael Myers or how he felt responsible for the young man.

Down the hall, Loomis heard a soft creak that might have been the old house adjusting to the nearing autumn weather. But he knew that it was not that. It was Michael creeping around in the dead of night when he should have been in bed - asleep. Loomis had a good reason for being up at three in the morning as he had work to do, but Michael did not. What on earth was that boy doing up at such a late hour? Loomis sorely wanted to know. He was tempted beyond reason to stride down the hallway to the bedroom overlooking the backyard, fling open the door and switch on the ceiling light to catch Michael in the act of... doing what? Loomis made a rude noise in his throat and silently shook his head. Oh, he would catch Michael in the act of doing something alright! Just like the numerous nights he had barged into Michael’s room during the past month, he would flood the bedroom with light only to discover Michael fast asleep in bed. How Michael did it Loomis would never know, but that boy had a knack for moving around undetected. He also seemed to have super sensitive hearing because Loomis never caught him doing anything out of the ordinary. Whatever it was he was up to, Michael always stopped doing it before Loomis got anywhere near him.

At the sound of what could have been fingernails lightly tapping on glass, Loomis shot out of his chair and made his way swiftly down the hallway. He was going to find out what Michael was doing or damn himself for trying!

As soon as Loomis reached the door at the end of the hallway, he grabbed the doorknob, twisted, swung the door open and stormed inside. He didn’t bother with the light switch. That would just distract him and allow sufficient time for Michael to scurry on back to bed. Forcing his eyes to quickly adjust to the darkness, Loomis looked towards the window overlooking the backyard. As predicted, Michael was nowhere near it. Instead, there was a convenient shape lurking under the blankets of Michael’s bed.

_Asleep, my arse!_

Ignoring Michael for the moment, Loomis rushed over to the small window on the left side of the bed. He didn’t have to worry about stepping on anything in the darkness because Michael was a very neat and tidy person. There was never an article of clothing on the floor, and never a piece of furniture out of place. The chair was always pushed in neatly at the desk, and Michael’s slippers were always lined up perfectly by his bedside. Everything else was properly sorted, dusted, and left looking so clean that most would assume nothing ever got used. Was that Michael’s way of keeping order? Or was he covering the tracks of his misdeeds? Loomis doubted he would ever find out.

At the window, Loomis practically beamed in delight at the discovery of fingerprints on the windowpane. He had been too fast this time, either that or Michael was becoming complacent. _Wait a minute!_ What was that down below? In the garden, beside the gnarly oak tree, was a tall manlike shape. It was big - bigger than any of the men Loomis had run into in town - and dressed rather shabbily. And... What was that in the man’s hand? Loomis soon found out when a handful of dirt hit the window, causing him to jump back in shock. Almost instantaneously, Loomis saw the lump in the bed shift anxiously, as if Michael were tempted to respond to the dirt thrower in the garden. _Was_ that what Michael had been doing?

Not wanting to find out what had been going on before he interrupted it, but needing to get rid of the strange man lurking in his garden, Loomis threw open the window and shouted at the intruder. “HEY! You! What are you doing on my property, you imbecile?! How dare you hurl dirt at my window and terrorize my son! Away with you! NOW! Before I call the authorities!”

The shadow by the tree took a step back, hiding itself further in the darkness of the night. Then it bent down, placing something by the base of the tree. Having seemingly completed his mission, the slightly hunchbacked shape trudged off in the direction of the lake. Loomis knew that he should have insisted that the seller of the lake house erect a fence before he had moved in. He knew nothing of the area or how safe it was, but he was too cynical to believe that living in a remote area of Crystal Lake without a fence was anything but a danger to his personal safety. And what in blazes had that man left by the tree?! Squinting his eyes at it, Loomis was startled when he realized that it was an unwrapped bouquet of flowers. There was no mistaking the delicate bunch of florals as they were illuminated by the eerie light of the full moon.

“Attracts the crazies, indeed,” Loomis muttered to himself. Damn Crystal Lake and the full moon! And damn whichever nutcase neighbor had taken it upon himself to court Michael through the bedroom window! “Michael! Wake up this instant!” Snatching up a handful of those blankets that were pulled up to Michael’s chin, Loomis yanked them back to reveal a pair of frightened blue eyes gazing up at him. Whatever Loomis had interrupted, Michael was so worried about it that he wasn’t even bothering to feign sleep. “Who was that man in our backyard? Why did he leave you flowers?”

There was no response. Nothing verbal. Michael simply looked up at him, his expression now becoming one of curiosity.

“Do you know the man who left the flowers?” Loomis almost never left Michael unattended. When had Michael managed to escape the house to attract the attention of some weirdo suitor in the area? The fact that Michael was being hit on by another man did not surprise Loomis. Michael was forever drawing the eyes of strange men and perverted sickos. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Michael looked. The boy was naturally good looking - young, slender, with a head of rich brown curls, those charming blue eyes, and a look of innocence that the unscrupulous loved to prey on. What bothered Loomis was that Michael had only been living outside of the sanitarium for a scant few weeks. The boy had no means of communication, no survival skills, and no way of distinguishing right from wrong. If Loomis were to leave Michael to his own devices, the vultures would swoop in and dismantle him in more ways than one.

At the mention of flowers, Michael’s lips twitched before returning to a bit of a frown. Was he pouting? Did he actually want the flowers?

“Now listen here, boy,” Loomis began in as strict a tone as his mild personality would allow. “You are not here to flirt with the local men,” he chastised, belatedly wondering if Michael even knew what the word ‘flirt’ meant. “I brought you here to help reintegrate you into society. This is a place where you can begin anew, free from the crime you committed back in Haddonfield when you were nothing but an ignorant child. You will ruin that opportunity if you start cavorting with some pervert who has nothing better to do with his time than skulk around his neighbor’s yard in the dead of the night.”

Michael studied Loomis’ face with those keen eyes of his and then glanced in the direction of the window once more.

“You will leave those flowers where they are,” Loomis commanded. He turned back to the window, slammed it shut, and locked the windowpane for good measure. “If I catch you by this window again tonight, there will be hell to pay.” He may as well have threatened Michael at gunpoint because he knew the boy was not going to heed his warning. Michael feared nothing, least of all the idle threats of a man whose fathering techniques were being fed to him via online advice forums.


	2. Chapter 2

Toaster strudels. What was he supposed to do with toaster strudels?

Michael tentatively poked his finger into the open box of frozen rectangular pastries, only to withdraw it again in confusion. It was chilly outside, but the toaster strudels were even frostier. Why would he want to eat a cold breakfast on a cold day? Folding his arms over his chest, Michael leaned back against the chair and miserably stared at the box. When Loomis had excitedly told him that he was to be properly cared for in a family environment, Michael had thought that would include home cooked meals and spending time together. He had been understandably dismayed to discover that Loomis did not touch the oven or stovetop in the kitchen. In fact, he rarely opened the fridge either. The part of the kitchen that Loomis was most familiar with was the freezer, which he kept stocked up with high sodium microwaveables. And Loomis appeared to be too busy with work to bother conversing with Michael. Or maybe the old man was uncomfortable with the current setup he had hastily agreed to. He certainly wasn’t acting in the way Michael expected a loving father to behave around his son. Michael was constantly being followed, observed, lectured, and threatened with boring punishments should he disobey the house rules that Loomis kept making up on the fly. If anything, Loomis was treating Michael like a disappointment waiting to happen rather than an adoptive son.

From upstairs, Michael heard Loomis tiptoeing around the bedroom overlooking the backyard - the room that supposedly belonged to Michael. So much for respecting his privacy. There was the clink of glass being lifted off of the bedside table, followed by a rougher clunk of it being placed back down. Then the top drawer of the bedside table was pulled open, some rustling followed before the drawer was shut again. Michael willed himself to stay in his seat and not react when Loomis began to rummage through the contents of the closet.

A few minutes later, Loomis came thundering down the stairs. He made a sharp left turn at the bottom of the stairs, practically flew into the dining room, and glared at Michael with his face a flustered mess. All Michael could think of doing in reaction to that demanding glare was to push the box of frozen pastries across the table. Loomis would know what to do with them. Hopefully.

“I found something by your bedside,” Loomis began accusingly.

Michael didn’t know what the big fuss was about. He had placed the vase of flowers purposefully next to his bed. He had in no way attempted to hide them, so he was puzzled that Loomis had needed to _find_ something that was in plain sight.

“When did you go outside to retrieve those flowers?” Loomis snatched up the box of toaster strudels, shook out two rock hard rectangles, and carried them over to the toaster. “I’ve been up since seven-thirty and I didn’t hear you get out of bed once.” He dropped each toaster strudel into a slot in the toaster and pushed the lever down to begin cooking them.

How was Michael to tell Loomis that he had snuck out sometime after four to save the thoughtful bouquet of flowers that the strange man down by the lake had brought him? He couldn’t tell Loomis the name of his romantic stalker either because he didn’t know it. The only thing he knew was that he had seen the fascinating man come up out of the lake two weeks ago and had been infatuated with him ever since. It had been quite a shock at first to see such a big man surfacing from beneath the depths of the lake. The man had not been swimming as he was fully clothed, but he had been wielding a long machete. Startled to find himself being watched from the deserted beach, the man had raised his weapon threateningly at Michael. However, he had lowered it again after he’d gotten a good look at him. Then the man had waded out of the water, his filthy drenched clothes clinging to the large muscles of his body, and a hockey mask shielding his face. He had crouched down to Michael, the sudden movement causing Michael to cautiously pull away. Before Michael could think of escaping or attacking, the man had taken hold of Michael’s right hand and firmly placed something wet in it. His grip had been extremely powerful while at the same time gentle. By the time Michael opened his hand to see what he had been given, the man was disappearing back into the water like a bizarre lake monster.

Michael self-consciously pulled up the zipper of his spruce green coveralls, ensuring that it was done up high enough so that Loomis wouldn’t be able to see either the silver necklace or the jewelled heart charm that was dangling above his collarbone. On the back of the charm it said _Sweet 16_ , but that held no meaning for Michael. What mattered was that some supernatural man from the lake had given him a gift of sunken treasure. Nobody had ever given Michael a gift before, at least no one other than Loomis. He absolutely refused to give up any present that was rightfully his.

“What are you wearing?” Loomis asked in a peculiar tone as he plated the toaster strudels and came back to the table with them.

Wasn’t it obvious? Michael was wearing a sensible outfit that would keep him warm while he was outside. It was much better than the button down cotton shirts and pressed slacks that Loomis had bought him an abundance of. Who wore such impractical clothing? Or who other than Loomis? Michael had never seen the man dressed in anything other than suits, ties, and trench coats. Even the man’s sleepwear was businesslike and uncomfortable looking. Aside from that, Loomis’ sense of fashion was without a doubt tragically dated.

“Where on earth did you get such a rough looking outfit?” Now Loomis was flitting around Michael like a parasite, pulling on his sleeves and turning down the high collar of his coveralls in order to inspect the label. “Tradewear Sears... Michael, where did these come from?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Michael let out an exasperated sigh and defensively hunched over the table onto his elbows. Loomis had promised that he would stop interrogating Michael if they were to start living together as father and son. He had explicitly told Michael that the questioning would take on more of a parental nature if Loomis were to be granted guardianship of him. So far, that did not seem to be the case.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Loomis immediately backed down, straightening Michael’s collar before giving him a brief hug. Michael liked receiving the rare hugs as much as Loomis enjoyed giving them, so he loosened his rigid posture to let Loomis know as much. “You can’t expect me not to worry,” he said as he squeezed Michael tightly. “A strange visitor in the night... flowers... a worker’s outfit from Lord knows where...” He trailed off as he sniffed the air. “Michael, did you make coffee?” Then the old man smiled at him before returning to the kitchen counter to check the coffeemaker. “Well, I’ll be damned! Who taught you how to use the coffeemaker?” The sound of hot coffee being poured into two mugs followed, then Loomis was back again with both the mugs and two tiny packets of icing. He placed a mug down beside Michael’s plate and then sat down beside him. The dining table was a fair size, but half of it was covered in Loomis’ files and paperwork. That left only two spaces suitable for eating at.

Michael watched Loomis rip the packet open and start to squeeze the icing out on top of his toaster strudel. Copying him, Michael did the same thing but not without a twinge of concern. Dessert was supposed to come after the main meal and only at dinner time. Why were they constantly eating sweets for breakfast? The dieticians who worked for Smith’s Grove would surely tell Loomis off for his poor dietary habits. Thankfully the food was Michael’s only complaint when it came to his new living environment. He was much happier now than he could ever remember being. He liked his new home, he felt safe in his bedroom, and he loved his freedom - or as much as Loomis was currently willing to give him. And he _really_ liked that big man down by the lake.

“I’ve got another week before I start my new job down at Crystal Lake Psychiatric Hospital,” Loomis said before taking a large bite of his strudel. As usual, he ended up getting crumbs in his graying beard, which he quickly brushed out when he noticed the disapproving look Michael was giving him. “We can spend some time together exploring the local sights and landmarks.”

There was nothing to explore down at Crystal Lake. Michael had already been around the lake and back again with nothing interesting to report. If Loomis was expecting to find some form of entertainment or something of historical significance in the area, he was going to be awfully disappointed when he turned up nothing but abandoned lake houses and what might have been a demolished summer camp. But Michael gave no indication that he was anything but thrilled to be able to hang out with Loomis for the week. That was why he had silently agreed to this arrangement - to be given the chance to bond with this man whom he had grown to think of as a replacement father.

“I wonder if there are any kids here your age...?” Loomis wondered aloud.

No, there were not. Michael had been peering in the windows of all the neighboring lake houses and had uncovered a retired elderly couple, an aging single mother with a lazy son who was much older than Michael, and a group of women in their thirties who appeared to be temporarily renting one of the more modern houses down by the boathouse. But those people only accounted for three of the houses located on the lake. Where had the occupants of the other twelve houses gone?

“Even if there are, I think it best that you steer clear of them for now,” Loomis continued, oblivious to Michael’s own thought processes. “Kids can be quite cruel when faced with that which they do not understand.”

 _Because I don’t speak_ , Michael thought to himself. What was so difficult to understand about that? Most people could naturally express themselves with words, whether those thoughts and opinions were welcome or not. But not Michael. Michael could not utter a single word. It didn’t matter how hard Loomis tried to coax the sounds and syllables out of him, Michael was incapable of producing them. He had been seen to by all sorts of physicians, psychiatrists, specialists... nonstop for years, but nobody could diagnose him nor cure him. How he longed to be able to plead with Loomis to stop nagging at him, or to demand that those other doctors stop treating him like a lab specimen. He hated being analyzed, stared at, spoken about as if he did not exist, and shuffled around from one person to the next. The only person who had ever treated Michael with kindness and decency was Loomis. There was no one as stubborn or persistent as Loomis, nor was there anyone else who believed that Michael deserved a second chance at life.

Michael watched in disbelief as Loomis dumped not one but three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee, followed by a good amount of full fat cream, and gave it a good stir - effectively ruining it. It was a shame, really, because the coffee was the only good thing in the cupboards. Having never had coffee at the sanitarium, Michael had taken his first few sips of the hot drink and nearly spat it out. His first impression of the beverage was that it was a bitter poison in disguise. But the second day he had drunk the gourmet blend of coffee that Loomis picked up from a quaint little cafe in town instead of the supermarket, Michael had been drawn to the comforting aroma of it. And on the third day, he had discovered that it didn’t taste so bad if left to sit for a few minutes. Sometime after that, he had figured out how to use the coffeemaker because he didn’t like the crude way Loomis just dumped the ground coffee in without measuring it first. There were also unpleasant coffee grinds that Loomis always managed to shake outside of the coffee filter.

“Well done, Michael!” Loomis congratulated him after taking a healthy gulp of the coffee. “I should have you make the coffee every morning.”

Michael tried his best not to let the praise get to his head, but he liked it when Loomis said nice things to him. Although he knew that making coffee was not one of life’s greater accomplishments, he was pretty sure that it was a step up from filling his own paper cup with water from a water cooler.

* * *

Outside the air was brisk and smelled of old oil. Someone in the neighborhood was cooking their breakfast outdoors. The smell had to be coming from the house with the exhausted single mom and her lazy uncouth son. Michael had spotted the barbecue behind their house in its oil splattered condition during one of his secret nightly strolls. Nobody ever cleaned the barbecue and the oil never got changed. Suddenly, Loomis’ addiction to microwaveables didn’t seem so bad.

“What a lovely day!” Loomis inhaled deeply... and ended up coughing and sputtering so badly that he had to bend over to catch his breath.

On second thought, those microwaveables had to go, as did the old man’s habit of dumping sugar into both his tea and coffee. The last thing Michael wanted was to start a new life with Loomis only to have him get carted off to the emergency room in the middle of the night because he was going into cardiac arrest.

Michael raised his hand, nervously lowered it again, and then raised it again before forcing himself to place it between Loomis’ shoulder blades. He carefully patted Loomis there, mimicking what he’d seen the nurses do with choking patients back at Smith’s Grove.

“Holy shit! Your old geezer sounds like he’s gonna croak!”

Michael turned his attention to the property that was polluting the air with its toxic sausages and charred eggs. Hovering near a beat up red Mustang with a greasy spatula in one hand was that lazy man who lived with his half-dead mother. He couldn’t even be trusted to tend to the barbecue for five minutes without going off to harass someone. Because that was what Michael considered that shitty remark to be - harassment. Glaring hatefully at the man, Michael returned to patting Loomis on the back.

“You have something to say to me, punk?!”

Oh, Michael had plenty that he _wanted_ to say to the man. It was just too bad that he was forced to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself.

“Don’t ignore me, you little worm!”

Michael heard the heavy footsteps of the man as he came barreling down the dirt path, on a direct collision course with himself and Loomis. What was he supposed to do? Loomis had yet to catch his breath, so he could not explain Michael’s condition. But if Michael didn’t respond soon, both he and Loomis were going to become targets of what was undoubtedly the neighborhood bully.

“Stay away from him, you cretin!” Loomis bellowed as he righted himself to his full height, which wasn’t really much compared to his much larger adversary, still coughing and red-faced. He threw a protective arm in front of Michael to separate him from the oncoming threat. “Can’t you see that he’s incapable of speaking?” Loomis burst into another coughing fit, which just made their easily provoked neighbor laugh sadistically.

“So you mean if I beat the crap out of him, he won’t make a sound?” The greasy pot-bellied man eagerly cracked his knuckles and took another step towards them. “Yeah, keep looking at me like that, hotshot! I’m gonna knock that defiant look off your pretty face!”

As emotionless as Michael could keep his face, he had no control over the rage in his eyes. He disliked being insulted and goaded, but he loathed the idea of Loomis getting knocked out while attempting to protect him even more. If that man took one more step towards him, he was going to be forced to do something that he would rather not do in front of his new father. A violent act had resulted in him being orphaned once, so who was to say that it wouldn’t happen a second time?

Before Michael could react or Loomis recover from his coughing fit, a tough green mass of muscles and fury shouldered its way between the two parties. A second later, the greasy neighbor was flying backwards to land hard on his ass an impossible distance away. He lay there heaving and gasping for air, both arms clutching at his stomach in agony.

Michael felt his heart flutter as he recognized the powerful man who had come to their rescue. Even from behind, there was no mistaking the slightly curved back and muscular arms of the lake man who often came calling on Michael in the middle of the night.

“You!” Unfortunately, Loomis was not yet senile and had no trouble remembering the man’s distinct figure.

When the man turned around, Michael was mystified to see that his suitor was still wearing a hockey mask over his face. Perhaps it was some kind of fashion trend that only the Crystal Lake residents were aware of. How liberating it must be to remain hidden within a mask that revealed no emotions or weaknesses. If Michael himself were in possession of such a mask, how different his life would be.

Every muscle in Michael’s body tensed the instant that Loomis went toe to toe with the lake man. This was exactly what he didn’t need, his father being pummeled by the man he had a crush on.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you have just done to protect my son...”

 _I needed no protection from that pathetic creature_ , Michael thought indignantly.

“But I feel I must warn you again to stay away from him. It just isn’t normal - a man of your age preying on a much younger, weaker boy—.”

“Your _boy_ may be young but he is _not_ weak.” The voice that emanated from the mask was deep, harsh, and challenging.

“And you would know that how?” Loomis demanded as he poked at the lake man’s incredibly built chest. “Where exactly are you from, Mister? I demand to know your name and address!”

Loomis had guts, Michael had to give him that. He was also touched to see how far the old man was willing to go to protect him, but enough was enough. Moving forward, Michael stroked the lake man’s muscular arm in a soothing gesture, convincing him to put up with Loomis’ rather abrasive people skills.

“ _Michael_!” Loomis called out sharply. “Don’t touch him!” He pulled Michael back and out of range of the lake man, or so he thought. As it turned out, the lake man had a quite an extensive reach for he easily brushed his fingers over Michael’s cheek in what was unmistakably a caress.

“Michael,” the lake man said in a much softer tone. “Now I know what you’re called.” And then he was off, paying no attention to Loomis’ repeated demands for a self-introduction.


	3. Chapter 3

How had that temperamental balding man managed to afford the nicest house on the south side of the lake? There was no woman in the house and no other men aside from the boy. That meant no wife, no siblings, and no tenants. So that uptight old man was paying the mortgage and utility bills with only one income. Was that even possible? What the hell did he do for a living?

Jason had a limited imagination when it came to jobs that existed outside of the immediate lake area. He was familiar with deputies and sheriffs, camp counselors and tour guides, as well as nature specialists and cooks, but that was about it. He doubted that any of those individuals would have been able to afford a modern two-story house made entirely of brick and furnished with all new appliances. The front of the property was also very well kept with trimmed plants and flowers lining either side of the cobblestone path that led up to the front porch. And on the porch was a small stainless steel table with matching chairs and a wooden swing. Jason occasionally saw the old man doing work at the table in the evening while Michael sat motionless on that swing. Come to think of it, Michael seemed to spend a lot of time absolutely still and quiet. Perhaps he enjoyed daydreaming or listening to the sounds of nature. He had yet to speak to Jason, but Jason was not put off by the boy’s shy disposition. If anything, it made Michael all the more endearing.

Being careful to keep a safe distance from the house, Jason circled around to the back where there was nothing but trees, bushes, weeds, and wild mushrooms. If Michael’s father was not going to bother himself with the gardening, the least he could do was employ someone to get rid of the poison ivy.

Stooping down to his usual patch of dirt, Jason grabbed a fistful, wound back his arm, and hurled it at Michael’s bedroom window. He had come by an hour later than yesterday so as to give the old man time to get to bed. Jason was anything but a predictable person anyhow. He didn’t keep a schedule and often decided to do things on a whim. So why was he outside of Michael’s window every night regardless of the weather? _Because I want Michael_ , Jason stubbornly thought to himself. He wanted that pretty brunette more than anything he had ever wanted before in his life. It didn’t matter what he had to do or for long, he would not give up until Michael was his.

_Michael? Where are you?_

Five minutes passed, and then ten. Growing impatient, Jason flung another fistful of dirt at the window but still got no reaction. Was Michael not in his bedroom?

Stalking back around the house, Jason slowed as he heard a loud angry voice coming from the kitchen. Was Michael fighting with his old man at this late hour?! 

“You aren’t listening to me!”

The voice was loud enough to be heard clearly even with all the windows closed. Whatever Michael had done, the old man was furious about it.

“I don’t care how much time has passed! I want you to send someone out here _now_!”

That didn’t make any sense. Why would the old man want Michael to _send_ someone out to the house? Creeping closer to the kitchen window, Jason discreetly peered inside. He immediately spotted the old man over by the counter. There was no missing the dizzying pattern on those burgundy pajamas. Michael’s father was leaning over the countertop with something clutched against his ear. In front of him was what looked like one of those magnets that the mailman had been passing out a few weeks ago. It was laminated with a list of emergency numbers. Who was the old man calling and where was Michael?

“He’s out there all alone in the dark with hell knows what!” The old man said in a raised voice into the... telephone? “... No... That’s hardly relevant... Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?! The boy is mute - incapable of verbal communication of any sort. He cannot make a sound...”

Jason’s entire body tensed and his expression darkened as his brain registered the word ‘mute’. He may not have had much of an education as a child, but he knew what that word meant. So Michael being shy had nothing to do with his reluctance to speak. The boy _could not_ speak. And he was out wandering around in the woods at this hour - all alone? If he got lost or hurt, he would not be able to call out for help. If he accidentally stumbled upon any of the traps Jason had set in various locations around the lake, he would get more than hurt. He would either get maimed or beheaded. Jason marched off across the front lawn, paying no attention to the bush that he stepped on or the stones that he kicked out of alignment. He had to find Michael before the unthinkable happened.

“You!”

Jason paused, turning his head to acknowledge the old man who was now out on the front porch. The man looked as rushed as Jason felt. He hadn’t even bothered to get dressed, merely pulling a ridiculous trench coat on top of his hideous pajamas and shoving his feet into a pair of unlaced loafers. He was so unlike Michael in both appearance and personality. While Michael was not much taller than the old man, he was slender and graceful whereas his father was out of shape and clumsy looking. Both father and son had blue eyes. But Michael’s were more of a sapphire blue and much more vibrant in comparison to the grayish-blue of his father’s. And although the old man went through his daily activities in a befuddled haste, Michael performed even the simplest act with precision and patience. The old man couldn’t have been more different from the child he had spawned. It puzzled Jason to watch the two of them together. Perhaps there were more similarities between Michael and his mother. But where was Michael’s mother?

Upon seeing the flowers that Jason still held clenched in his left hand, the man’s face drained of all its color. “He’s not with you then?”

“No.” Jason watched the old man’s features twist in dismay. Apparently, Michael’s father didn’t hate Jason as much as Jason had originally feared. Judging by the man’s pained expression, he would much rather have found Michael in Jason’s arms than not at all. “Come,” Jason brusquely commanded. “We’re wasting time.” He stomped off in the direction of the lake, heading for the beach where he knew Michael liked to sit and watch the water. From behind him, a wide beam of yellow light cut open a patch of darkness on his left side. Jason did not require flashlights as he could see perfectly well at any time of day or night, but he didn’t let Michael’s father know that.

“He can’t speak,” the old man miserably claimed, rushing to catch up to Jason. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t know,” Jason said gruffly, wondering if knowing would have made any difference in the way he interacted with Michael. Probably not. But it would have made him feel a lot less resentful towards the old man. Given Michael’s condition, the old man had every right to be overprotective of him. Despite the willfulness and hidden strength that Jason sensed within Michael, there were far too many obstacles for a boy incapable of speech to overcome. That bully they had encountered yesterday was a prime example of how limited Michael’s interactions had to be. There would be no negotiating or compromising in a situation like that. If Jason had not intervened, Michael would have had to choose between either running away or striking the man dead.

“Hah!” The old man exclaimed in disbelief. “You lurk beneath his bedroom window at night and follow him around during the day, but you’re not aware of his disability? I find that hard to believe.”

“I thought he was shy,” Jason muttered defensively. How was he to have known that there was anything wrong with Michael? It wasn’t like Jason had ever dated before. He had very little experience when it came to socializing in general. He didn’t know what was acceptable behavior and what was not. Or what was normal and what wasn’t. All he knew was that seeing Michael smile was worth more than anything anyone could have said to him. In Jason’s world, words were cheap but actions spoke volumes. That’s why he rarely spoke, because it served no practical purpose for him.

“He is indeed shy,” the old man declared with a sudden fondness. “He is also prone to bouts of isolation and detachment, which is why I thought it best to relocate to such a remote area. I figured that I would never have to worry about him wandering into traffic or getting roughed up by the unsavory sort that preys on the weak and disabled. But now I’m going out of my mind fearing that he may have been struck down by a bear or cougar. Blast my short-sightedness!”

Stopping at the edge of the beach, Jason combed it from one end to the other with his eyes while listening keenly with his ears. Nothing.

“There are no cougars in this area,” he calmly informed the old man before moving on.

“W—wait! You can’t leave just yet. You’ve barely checked the entire beach.”

“It’s been checked,” Jason replied flatly. “He isn’t here.”

“How can you even see with that hockey mask over your face?” The old man stumbled in the sand, rushing to catch up to Jason and nearly dropping his flashlight in the process. “ _Why_ do you feel the need to hide your face even in the dead of night? And why won’t you tell me your name?”

“Why won’t you tell me yours?” Jason shot back in irritation.

“It’s Doctor Loomis. Samuel Loomis. Or, I suppose if you’re going to insist on courting my son, you’d better just stick with Sam.”

So that’s how all the bills were being paid! A doctor’s salary would definitely cover such a nice lake house, as well as whatever medical bills Michael’s care required. Unless Sam was the one treating Michael...?

“Sam,” Jason repeated with interest. “I’m Jason.” He purposely omitted his last name because of the bloody history attached to it. Should Sam ask the locals about a Jason Voorhees living down by the lake, he would be told a horrific tale of a vicious serial killer who may or may not have been immortal. Upon learning the truth about Jason, Sam would definitely not hesitate to take Michael far away from the lake - and from Jason. The only reason Jason had not yet killed Sam was because he didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Michael. Losing his father would hurt Michael more than any physical injury ever could, which is why Jason had refrained from butchering the old man. But if Sam attempted to take Michael away...

“And the mask?” Sam prompted.

“Stays on.” Jason trudged upwards into a heavily wooded area that headed west of the lake. “You wouldn’t like my face if you saw it,” he clarified when Sam looked put off by his response. “And I don’t want to scare Michael.”

“So you’re physically scarred,” Sam said with the utmost delicacy. “That is not something that you need to be ashamed of. I’ve seen quite a lot in my time thanks to my profession. And Michael...” He shook his head and smiled wryly at Jason. “That boy is scared of nothing.”

That was true. Anyone else would have been terrified to witness a beast of a man emerging from the bottom of the lake, but not Michael. Although somewhat nervous about the unexpected encounter, Michael had looked up at Jason with curiosity and interest. And he had only shied away when Jason attempted to touch him. Michael had instinctively known that Jason would not hurt him, which is why he hadn’t bolted or struck out at Jason. Michael was the only person whom Jason had been unable to feel any anger or maliciousness towards. His immediate attraction to Michael had been partially due to the boy’s innocent nature, but also because he had been overwhelmed by Michael’s angelic beauty. It was something that should have been inaccessible to a man like Jason, but Michael had made it obvious from the start that Jason’s advances were more than welcome.

“He should be scared,” Jason said in a rough tone as he contemplated all that could have happened to Michael out in the woods. “There are many dangers out here. He should not be out here by himself, especially after dark.” Abruptly, Jason reversed direction and began to head east. “He didn’t come this way,” he explained before Sam could ask.

“It wouldn’t matter if I locked him in his bedroom, he would find a way of escaping,” Sam grumbled. “And the most peculiar thing is that I never see him leaving the house. I only realize that he’s gone once I can’t find him. But he always comes back at a reasonable hour. He’s never been out this late before.”

“It sounds like he needs a real man to be in charge of him,” Jason practically threatened. He had already had enough of this nonsense. Worrying was something he never did because - before Michael - he had never had anyone to worry about. He disliked being manipulated and losing control of his emotions. It reminded him too much of his previous adversaries who had outsmarted and defeated him. And remembering that also stirred up the unpleasant sensation of having been resurrected inside a half-buried coffin filled with dirt and insects. If Michael was playing a game... If this was some sort of cry for attention... Jason clenched his fists and stomped on ahead at a speed that Sam had difficulty matching.

When they were nearing the boathouse down by the lake, Jason glanced superficially at the door. It was shut tight and chained up with a padlock. Beyond the boathouse was the house where a bunch of single women were enjoying some sort of reunion. Normally, Jason would have swept through the area with his machete and other sharp objects in order to remove every last intruder in his territory. The only thing stopping him this time was Michael. So long as Michael remained, Jason would not touch anyone in the neighborhood.

“Maybe he went into one of the other houses,” Sam suggested. “Maybe he got lost... or felt cold...”

“No,” Jason said harshly. “Michael does not get lost. And he does not like being around other people.” Ignoring Sam’s questioning stare, Jason looked again towards the boathouse. “And he always goes home on time.” He knew that for a fact because he made it his business to follow Michael home. Marching up to the boathouse, Jason grabbed hold of the chain with both hands. If Michael had not gone home, it was not because he wanted to stay outside in the freezing cold woods - alone. It was because he had been prevented from returning to the one place he felt safe.

“That’s locked. He wouldn’t be in there.”

That’s probably what the person who had locked Michael in there was hoping everyone would think. Even with a search party, nobody would think of checking a locked building. And nobody used the boathouse anymore as it was old and rotting. The previous owner had just sealed it up and moved on. It would not be opened again until the following summer - at the earliest. And only if someone purchased the land it was sitting on. Michael would be long dead by then.

Wrenching the chain between his hands, Jason savagely ripped it apart. He heard Sam gasp in astonishment behind him, but he was too busy tearing open the heavy metal door to worry about how his superhuman strength was frightening the good doctor.

Inside the boathouse, it was damp and cold - even colder than outside due to its close proximity to the water. There were no windows so it was also black as coal from one square inch to the next. Even so, Jason had no trouble locating the shivering bundle a few feet from the door.

“Shine your flashlight over there,” Jason ordered. When Sam complied, Jason visually followed it to Michael’s small form. He didn’t want to accidentally step on Michael in the dark, regardless of how good his eyesight was.

“ _Michael_!” Sam shouted, about to rush forward to rescue his son.

“ _No_!” Jason’s arm shot out, blocking Sam from racing into the boathouse. “The wood inside is rotten. You might end up in the water.” What he didn’t say was that even if that happened, he would still prioritize Michael’s rescue first. Jason could practically feel the tension intensifying inside Sam as he was forced to stand back and watch someone else play the hero with his son. But as Jason approached Michael, he didn’t do so with any cockiness. Hecrept across the creaking planks of wood with the utmost caution. If he stepped on any of the rotting sections, his substantial weight could bring down the whole floor. Down below was nothing but water - icy cold water. Jason sure as hell didn’t want Michael falling into such a frigid bath and then going into hypothermic shock.

“Michael?” Jason called out gently as he neared the shivering figure. “Are you hurt?” He stupidly realized that Michael would not be able to answer him even if he were. As soon as Jason was close enough, he crouched down to Michael and placed one of his large hands on the boy’s shoulder. The lack of warmth in that slender body scared Jason, as did the uncontrollable trembling. Jason quickly shirked off his heavy jacket and wrapped Michael up in it.

 _Mew_!

“What?” Had Michael just meowed like a cat? Feeling confused, Jason searched around blindly with his hand until he located a damp ball of fur clutched protectively in Michael’s arms. That was not all he found. Attached to what was presumably the neck of a tiny kitten was a thin metal chain. And that chain was connected to a piece of plywood that lay on the floor next to Michael’s feet. But it hadn’t originally been on the floor. It had been attached to the far wall. There were splinters and pieces of wood everywhere - clear signs of how Michael had ripped the plywood free from the wall in a fit of rage. It suddenly seemed quite obvious what had happened and why.

Jason gently pressed his hand against Michael’s cheek, drawing the attention of those tear filled blue eyes. There was fear there, as well as discomfort, but also an unmistakable anger that Jason had no trouble relating to.

“You’re safe now,” Jason reassured the boy as he grasped the chain with his right hand. With enough pressure, it crumbled away, freeing the kitten and coaxing a weak smile out of Michael. “Can you walk? No?” The boy was shivering so badly he could not even stand up much less walk. So Jason easily picked him up and carried him out to where Sam was waiting.

“Good lord! Michael!” Sam greeted them outside the boathouse, desperately grasping for his beloved son. “How did you wind up in there?!”

It could have been an honest mistake had someone locked up the boathouse without knowing that Michael was inside. Michael could have wandered inside to explore and then been locked in without any way of protesting. That would have made sense... if not for the kitten. No, Michael ending up locked inside the boathouse had not been an accident. Someone had deliberately lured him in with the chained up kitten and then locked him in there. That person had known Michael was mute and would not be found for a very long time - if ever. Whoever had trapped Michael inside the boathouse had intended to kill him. Jason clutched Michael tighter in his arms, refusing to relinquish him to Sam. Jason was now filled with a murderous rage. He knew of one person who was heartless enough to attempt to kill an innocent boy, and that person also had the motive for doing so. When Jason got his hands on that person, he was going to hack them to pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Happy Friday the 13th! 👻**

Loomis had not entertained anyone in many, many years. The last time he could remember doing so might have been sometime after he had first gotten married. That was one of the reasons why his marriage had ended in divorce - his inability to socialize. But that personal failing of his had not been as high up on the list as his despised workaholic nature... or his preoccupation with Michael. How many times had he failed to return home for dinner because of some crisis over at Smith’s Grove? And how often had he allowed a phone call involving Michael to disrupt his evening or weekend? When he had ultimately expressed his desire to take Michael home to care for him... Well, that had been the last straw for the ex-Mrs. Loomis. The following day Loomis had been served divorce papers and locked out of the house. And the months following that he had spent divided between attending to Michael’s needs and fighting his ex-wife in court over their shared assets. In contrast, becoming Michael’s legal guardian had been a breeze.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Loomis hovered in the doorway to the living room, watching Jason fiddle with the Rubik’s Cube that Michael had left lying on the coffee table. Loomis had bought Michael a wide assortment of puzzles and games in the hopes that it might inspire the boy to communicate more. Unfortunately, Michael had quietly solved all the puzzles and outsmarted Loomis at all the board games, the Rubik’s Cube included. When invited to play again, Michael had let Loomis know that going through the same game twice was pointless and boring.

“Okay.” By the sounds of it, Jason couldn’t have cared less what Loomis offered him to drink. His main focus was Michael, although he was trying very hard to keep his hands off of the boy who was sleepily curled up at his side on the sofa.

Upon returning home, Loomis had invited Jason in because a) it was the decent thing to do, and b) Jason had refused to put Michael down. Jason had eventually lowered Michael onto the sofa and then proceeded to wrap him up in the throw blankets that had been neatly folded on the armchair. Then, perhaps feeling self-conscious, Jason had started to pick up random things from the coffee table in order to distract himself.

Loomis reluctantly made his way back into the kitchen, not fully trusting a strange man alone with Michael. Jason practically towered over Michael and his muscular frame took up a lot of space on the sofa. Michael looked small and delicate next to a man who might have been a professional brawler or a lumberjack. At least Jason was behaving like a gentleman by keeping his hands to himself, but Loomis would have preferred Jason to remove that foolish hockey mask. It just wasn’t polite to wear hats or sports equipment inside someone’s house. How badly scarred could Jason’s face be that he had to go around looking like a goalie on steroids?

Another problem Loomis had with the mask was that it made it virtually impossible for him to determine his guest’s age. Judging by the man’s impressive stature and the way he confidently moved around, as well as how mature and wise he acted, Loomis guessed that Jason was well into his thirties. But he couldn’t be absolutely sure. For all he knew, Jason could be significantly older than that. There was something about him that felt aged, but not in a natural way. While Loomis would feel eternally grateful to Jason for how the man had saved Michael’s life, he did not feel entirely comfortable around him. Not only was he far too old for Michael, but Michael had virtually no experience with interacting with people, let alone dating. Surely Jason could see how maladjusted Michael was to the outside world. What would such a rough and impatient man want with a boy who could not speak or properly express himself?

When Loomis re-entered the living room a few minutes later with a tray of hot drinks and snacks, he saw to Michael first. Placing the tray down on the coffee table, he took a mug of hot chocolate milk over to Michael and pressed it into the boy’s trembling hands. “Here you go, Michael. A nice hot cup of cocoa to warm you up.”

In response, Michael’s lips turned up into a slight appreciative smile before they reverted back to a sulking frown. Michael was still cold despite the blankets and the heat having been turned up. And that was in addition to the ratty jacket that Jason had wrapped around him. The mangy kitten Michael had taken home with him was faring a bit better as it was purring loudly inside the blankets. Both Michael and the kitten could do with a hot bath, but neither appeared to have the energy for it.

 _It’s good for the boy to have a pet_ , Loomis thought to himself. Taking care of an animal was a wonderful learning experience. It might also help Michael mature emotionally. Before moving to Crystal Lake, Loomis had taken Michael to the pound in search of a canine companion. Because what boy wouldn’t love to befriend a loyal, slobbering mutt? However, their pet search had ended on a sour note when Michael had gotten spooked by one of the larger barking dogs. Michael hadn’t gone near any of the smaller dogs either, which led Loomis to believe that the boy had an aversion to dogs in general. Perhaps he had been bitten by one when he was a small child. Whatever the case, Loomis had given up on getting Michael a pet that day. If only he had taken Michael into the cat section instead...

“Would you care for some fish sticks?” Loomis asked Jason, gesturing towards the snacks he had just heated up in the microwave. He sat across from Jason in the armchair, mindful of keeping the stranger in full view of him. It wasn’t that he disliked the man. Not being comfortable around someone and disliking them were two completely different things. What Loomis was having trouble with... What Loomis _always_ had trouble with was trusting others with Michael. He had sworn to himself that he would never risk trusting anyone with Michael ever again. Not after what had happened back at the sanitarium...

“Fish sticks?” Jason repeated dumbly.

“Surely you’ve had fish sticks before...” Loomis couldn’t imagine anyone not knowing what fish sticks were.

Shrugging indifferently, Jason snatched two fish sticks off of the plate, nudged his mask aside just far enough to reveal his mouth, and crammed both fish sticks inside. Before Loomis could see more than what he assumed was a misshapen mouth with sharp teeth, the mask was back in place again. “Doesn’t taste like fish,” Jason commented after he’d swallowed everything down.

“And what do you eat in your household?” Loomis asked out of curiosity.

“Real fish.”

It was a simple answer to an uncomplicated question, but Loomis couldn’t help but take offence. “Then you have the time to prepare real fish?”

“Don’t you?” Jason jerked his head in Michael’s direction. “He needs real food. Real meat. Real fish. I catch more than enough to share.” Michael gave no indication that he was listening to the conversation. He just pressed closer to Jason and sipped at his hot chocolate milk, occasionally pushing his hand inside the blankets to pet the content kitten.

“Oh, that’s awfully generous of you, Jason, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing—.”

“It’s not an offer,” Jason bluntly interrupted Loomis. “Stop feeding him fish sticks.” Before Loomis could reply, Jason went on to casually inform Loomis of what to expect on which days. “Mondays and Tuesdays are for chicken. Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays are fish days. Thursdays you will eat pork and Sunday beef.”

Loomis was flabbergasted by the nerve Jason had to imply that he wasn’t feeding Michael properly. It was also highly offensive of the man to tell him how to run his household. Loomis was doing the best he could for Michael, despite the fact that he couldn’t cook and had no idea how to keep his house in order. He delegated most of the household chores to Michael because the boy seemed to have a knack for keeping things clean and organized. Loomis was a very busy man, even now, spending a good portion of the day and part of the evening reviewing the case files of the patients he would be attending to at Crystal Lake Psychiatric Hospital. While it was true that he did regret his inability to prepare nutritious meals for Michael, he did not feel guilty about having Michael do all the housework. For one thing, Michael was a fast learner. Giving him more responsibilities and challenging tasks was helping the boy acclimatize to his new environment. Loomis also planned to eventually put Michael in the kitchen to see if he had any natural culinary skills because Loomis himself certainly did not.

“I’m perfectly capable of purchasing my own groceries, thank you very much.” Loomis curtly let Jason know that his unsolicited meat and fish were unwelcome.

“You have too much pride for a man who can’t cook,” Jason said evenly.

Loomis felt his face redden with humiliation at that remark. But when he turned to glare at Jason, he found that the man’s good eye - the right eye that seemed to be open wider than the left - was regarding Loomis plaintively. There was no malice or insult intended in that hazel eye, only concern. And that concern was directed at Michael. Jason was looking at him as if to say, _Let me do this for you. Let me help Michael._ If it would benefit Michael... If it would make the boy Loomis loved like a real son happy, then he would swallow his pride and allow Jason to donate whatever fresh meat he slaughtered or fish he caught.

“Very well. You may bring over whatever you wish... but you will have to show me what to do with it.”

Upon hearing that concession, Jason seemed to lighten up. He might have even been smiling behind his mask.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loomis continued to observe Michael. He was doing his best to act normally and keep the atmosphere light, but inside he was boiling with anger. Seeing Michael huddled cold and frightened inside the boathouse had nearly caused him to lose all reasoning. While Michael was usually withdrawn and incapable of normal communication, he was not dim witted. On the contrary, Michael was remarkably clever if given the opportunity to prove himself. He would not have allowed someone to lock him inside a frigid boathouse, kitten or no kitten. While incapable of speech, Michael would have made some noise to alert the person who was locking the door that there was someone inside. Michael did the same thing every morning when he crept downstairs for breakfast. He scuffed his slippers along the carpet unnecessarily in order to alert Loomis to his presence. Before he had started doing so, Loomis had had a few unfortunate run-ins where Michael’s unexpected appearance had just about given him a heart attack.

“What is it that you do, Jason?” Loomis asked for the sake of getting his mind off of the idea of someone intentionally trying to hurt Michael.

“Hunt.”

Jason’s brief answer made Loomis feel even more unsettled. “So, you’re a hunter then?”

“What do you mean?” Jason stretched his right arm across the back of the sofa and very conspicuously used it to pull Michael tighter against him.

While Michael glanced up at Jason in surprise, Loomis nearly bit his tongue off in order to silence the sharp rebuke that Jason had coming. How dare that man freely put his arm around Michael while Loomis was still watching! But Loomis forced himself to wait for Michael’s reaction, knowing that he couldn’t really say anything unless Michael himself rejected the touch.

Clearing his throat, Loomis addressed Jason but kept his attention on Michael. “Your occupation. Are you a hunter?”

“I guess so.” But Jason was only partially listening because he was too busy gazing fondly at Michael. And Michael was now snuggling up against Jason’s side and resting his head against the man’s powerful chest as if it were completely natural for him to do so.

Well, Loomis had had just about enough of this for one night. “Michael, I’m going to run you a hot bath and find a small container to wash your new kitten in.” Leaving his tea and the rest of the fish sticks untouched, Loomis stood and gestured towards the door. “I greatly appreciate your assistance tonight, Jason, but I’m afraid that it’s getting quite late.”

“It’s not late. It’s early.” Jason jerked his head in the direction of the window where the sun was beginning to rise. “It’s almost morning.”

“That was a figure of speech,” Loomis said with barely contained annoyance. “Michael needs to rest after the ordeal he has been through.” When Jason continued to stare at him blankly, Loomis just about rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Don’t you have a home to return to?”

“I’m not leaving,” Jason responded with stubborn determination. “I’m staying to protect Michael.”

“You most certainly are not!” Loomis stated firmly. He didn’t know what upset him more, the fact that Jason had just invited himself over to spend the night - _morning_ \- or that Michael looked delighted at the idea. This was not something he had ever expected to have to deal with as a parent. While he had been fully aware that Michael would require a lot more care than any other boy of his age due to his disability and extensive psychological trauma, he had never anticipated having to argue with a barbaric male suitor over an inappropriate sleepover. Did Jason really think that Loomis was going to allow him inside Michael’s bedroom? Or any other room in the house where Michael would be left alone and vulnerable with him?

“What are you going to do if Michael is attacked again?” Jason challenged him as he absently plucked the mug out of Michael’s hand before it ended up on the sofa. Placing it down on the coffee table, he wrapped both arms protectively around Michael and stared Loomis down. “The cops didn’t even want to come out to search for him, did they? Do you think they’ll come while you’re being stabbed to death in your sleep?”

“ _What_?!” What was Jason implying? Were the local police that indifferent to the crimes committed under their jurisdiction? Why would anyone go to such lengths to hurt Michael? Locking him in an abandoned boathouse was one thing, but breaking into his house in order to violently kill both him and his father...? “Do you truly believe that bastard capable of such an act?!” Loomis spat out vehemently. If it came to that, Loomis was more than prepared to defend himself and protect Michael. He kept two firearms in the house and was quite skilled at using them. His occupation often put him at risk of being attacked by unstable patients, so he took no chances when it came to his safety - or Michael’s. “And what good will having you stay here do us? You don’t even have a weapon.”

Very slowly, Jason lifted up his left pants leg to reveal the handle of some sort of blade protruding from his muddy work boot. “I always have a weapon. And when I don’t... I find one.”

The instant Jason began to withdraw his concealed weapon, Loomis bolted out of his chair with some urgency. He banged his shin on the coffee table in his haste to get to Jason, failing to prevent the man from lifting that long shiny blade up in front of Michael’s face. Loomis didn’t miss the way Michael’s sleepy blue eyes widened and then glazed over, as if he were mesmerized by the lethally sharp weapon.

Grabbing hold of Jason’s hand, Loomis tried to force him to lower the weapon. “Put that away!” He ordered as he frantically fought for control of the knife.

“I’m not going to stab you with it,” Jason said indignantly, refusing to budge despite Loomis’ best efforts.

“It’s not me that I’m worried about,” Loomis frustratedly informed Jason in a hushed tone. “There can be no sharp objects around Michael - no knives of any sort.”

At first Jason gave Loomis a peculiar look, but then he lowered the knife and carefully placed it on top of the tray alongside the unwanted fish sticks. It was obvious that he wanted to ask Loomis to elaborate on why knives were forbidden around Michael. However, he seemed to realize that the sort of questions he had in mind were not to be voiced in front of Michael himself, for whatever reason. So he remained silent and glanced down at Michael to see what kind of reaction the knife had provoked. On the outside, aside from that initial flash of interest, there was nothing. But on the inside... There was no way of telling what Michael was thinking or feeling.

Grumbling in irritation, Loomis picked up the knife and bent down to stow it back inside Jason’s boot. “Not on the table either.” _Nowhere within access of Michael._ He would answer whatever questions Jason had - later. When Michael was asleep or out of earshot. Jason deserved that much after his heroic actions, even though Loomis himself had questions regarding the abnormal amount of strength it would have taken to snap a chain in half. But that would have to wait until later. For now he had a bath to run and an extra pillow to search for. “You can stay the night provided that you remain down here and keep whatever dangerous objects you have on you hidden.”

Although Jason said not a word, the large hand that he used to reassuringly grasp Michael by his shoulder spoke volumes. Whether Loomis approved of Jason or not, the man had just taken on the role of Michael’s protector.


	5. Chapter 5

_“If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”_

_“Uh... yeah...”_

Michael listened to the sound of the bathroom door closing, which was immediately followed by the jangling of a metal belt buckle being undone. Next came the unceremonious flopping sound of a pair of pants being dropped on top of the bath mat. Imagining Jason without his pants on caused Michael’s face to heat up and his mouth to go dry. What would a man as built as Jason look like entirely naked? Was it wrong to picture another man with his clothes off? Michael got the feeling that he was not supposed to ask such questions. Even though he couldn’t ponder aloud, he still felt guilty for thinking what might possibly be inappropriate thoughts about Jason.

“Michael?” From outside Michael’s bedroom, Loomis knocked lightly on the closed door. “May I enter?”

It seemed awfully peculiar that Loomis would ask for permission to enter after he had already been inside the bedroom snooping around. But Michael didn’t mind his new father spying on him because he knew that Loomis meant well. There was nothing incriminating to be found in the closet or under the bed, aside from the little trinkets that Jason was in the habit of giving him. Besides, Michael was used to having his privacy invaded on a daily basis. Nothing Loomis did could ever make him feel as uncomfortable as he had while residing at Smith’s Grove.

The door creaked open when Michael made no noise to indicate that Loomis was unwelcome.

“Ah, you’re in bed. Good.” Loomis tiredly approached the bed with a fluffy bundle in his arms. “As it turns out, your kitten isn’t entirely black after all.”

Michael sat up straighter, pushing the pillows behind him for support, and held out his arms for the freshly washed kitten. Taking the tiny feline from Loomis, he turned her this way and that, marvelling at the multicolored creature his father had uncovered. Amusingly, the kitten was completely white on its underside and paws while its tail was jet black. The rest of the kitten was an interesting pattern of orange, brown and grey. What kind of creep would abuse such an adorable animal?

Having sufficiently admired the unique pattern and colors on the kitten, Michael set her down in the middle of one of the pillows and began to softly pet her. She would make a nice companion while Loomis was at work or too busy to spend time with him. To show his appreciation for bathing the kitten - and enduring what looked like fairly painful claw marks up and down his arms - Michael smiled up at his father. Loomis was already dressed in his formal pajamas, with the sleeves of his pajama top rolled up and wet from introducing the kitten to the bathtub. Michael didn’t want to imagine the fuss the kitten must have made while she was being lathered up in sudsy bubbles.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed beside Michael, Loomis impulsively pulled him into a desperate hug. “Thank god you’re alright, Michael,” Loomis sighed gratefully into Michael’s hair. “After all you’ve been through... to wind up locked in some frigid boathouse...”

Unused to affectionate displays of emotion, all Michael could do was allow himself to be embraced in order to alleviate his father’s suffering. Being held by Loomis was nothing like being wrapped up in Jason’s big, strong arms. While Jason’s embrace had been incredibly possessive and overwhelming, Loomis’ was very paternal and warm. Sighing soundlessly, Michael rested his head on his father’s shoulder and let his eyes slide shut. Michael had received far too few hugs and not much praise or support over the years. Despite the way Loomis had grown attached to him back at the sanitarium, his father had been very careful with their interactions while others were watching. As Loomis had explained to him one Christmas - after he had discreetly given Michael a pair of warm socks and a candy cane as a present, followed by a mouthwatering turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce in the place of the cafeteria set meal - any sign of an emotional bond between them might be construed as unprofessionalism on Loomis’ part. While Loomis reassured Michael that more hugs and presents would be given when the opportunity presented itself, he made sure Michael understood that those exchanges would be done in secrecy. For if Loomis were to be caught treating Michael like anything other than a patient, he would automatically be replaced with a psychiatrist who wouldn’t give a damn about Michael’s special needs and potential for rehabilitation.

Loomis began to stroke Michael’s hair, the action very soothing and comforting. “Michael, I don’t wish to upset you, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

Michael frowned when Loomis released him. That had been far too short. And since he didn’t know when to expect another hug...

Unexpectedly, Loomis hugged him again. “I know, Michael. You deserve a lot more attention than I’ve been able to give you these past few weeks. It’s just been... _difficult_ adjusting to this new life that we’re building together. I sometimes forget that I no longer need to fear anyone objecting to our relationship as father and son.”

Oh. So _that_ was why Loomis was having trouble showing Michael affection. That made sense, especially after all the years both Loomis and Michael had been forced to keep their interactions secret. Loomis understood the laws better than Michael did, which was probably why the psychiatrist was so overly cautious in the first place.

“I promise that I’ll stay with you for a while afterwards, but I really do need some answers first.”

If there would be more hugs afterwards, then Michael would answer his father’s questions to the best of his ability. Nodding in assent, Michael watched Loomis take a blank drawing pad and a colored pencil off of the desk. He accepted the navy blue pencil and the drawing pad, emptying his mind so that he could concentrate on the questions that Loomis wanted to ask him.

“I couldn’t see past Jason when he went into the boathouse. And that man isn’t exactly forthcoming with information...” Loomis muttered.

That wasn’t a question. Michael tapped the pencil impatiently against the drawing pad.

“Sorry. Were you in possession of the kitten before entering the boathouse?”

That was a simple question to which Michael simply shook his head.

“How did you know the kitten was inside the boathouse?”

That was a complicated question. It would require more than a yes or no answer. Pressing the tip of the pencil against the clean sheet of white paper, Michael sketched the kitten lying down with its neck wrapped in that chain. He then illustrated how the chain had been pulled taut as the kitten struggled to free itself, its mouth open wide to depict how it had been piteously meowing. As he drew the boathouse around the kitten, he was well aware that writing down words and sentences would have been more descriptive and a faster means of conveying the images in his mind. It was too bad that he was not capable of using a language to express himself. He had lost the ability to speak at the age of six and no amount of therapy or retraining could get him to use his voice again. Similarly, nothing anyone tried - Loomis included - could get him to write letters on paper. There was some sort of mental block in his mind that prevented him from converting the thoughts in his head into a written form. A number of years ago, he had been forced to endure sign language lessons for months upon end until the teacher gave up on that method of communication as well. The only way Michael could ‘speak’ was through illustrations. Loomis was the one who had discovered that hidden talent and nurtured it with quite a lot of persistence in order to improve the communication between them - instead of acting all proud of his actions and rushing to publish his findings in a journal, as would normally be the case with most psychiatrists.

“So you were baited into entering the boathouse.” That was not a question. And Loomis’ normally mild voice was filled with anger.

Yes, Michael had come to the same conclusion. It was extremely peculiar, and not at all a coincidence, that he had been locked in seconds after he had gone in after the kitten.

“Did you see the person who locked you in?”

Michael slowly shook his head.

“Do you think that it might have been that barbaric neighbor we encountered yesterday?”

This time the pencil scratched angrily across the page as Michael drew a caricatured version of the bully with his neck caught in a noose.

“No, Son, we’ve had this discussion before,” Loomis said patiently as his hand covered Michael’s to stop the image from becoming anymore violent. “Such illustrations are bad for your mental health.”

Michael had no choice but to agree with Loomis there. Punishing the people he disliked by carving their likenesses up on paper only made him feel angrier and stressed out. However, it was just too easy for him to draw death and destruction. The temptation was sometimes too great, especially given the way he was treated by others. Their neighbor was certainly not the first person to harass or threaten him. He was constantly being stared at or bumped into when he failed to move aside fast enough in the shopping malls and supermarkets. All the noise and crowds made him nervous and uneasy. And there were far too many distractions. Aside from that, people often made disparaging remarks about Michael because of how disconnected he seemed to be from the rest of the world. Occasionally there would be nasty comments made about Michael’s mental state. Once Michael had been called something so terrible that Loomis had started to shout obscenities in the drugstore parking lot. Even though Loomis had tried slowly acclimatizing Michael to his surrounding environment, the foreign stimuli had proven to be too overwhelming. Loomis had eventually stopped taking Michael to those places when the violent drawings had begun to pile up in his file folder.

“So you didn’t see that bad mannered heathen anywhere near the boathouse?”

Michael slowly shook his head. As much as he would have enjoyed watching Loomis point a gun at their sloth of a neighbor, he couldn’t lie about something that he hadn’t actually seen. But who else was vindictive and crazy enough to lock a mute up in an abandoned building? It wasn’t like Michael was a threat to anyone. He had no friends, nor did he have any enemies - at least not that he was aware of. The reason why people were always shoving him out of the way was because he was practically non-existent. He liked to lurk in places and observe from a distance. And when large groups of people caused him to panic, he tended to freeze up and stay in the one spot. Either way, he went unnoticed until somebody ended up slamming into him or shouting at him for getting in the way. Obviously, he liked neither form of unpleasant interaction. So he did his best to stay as far away from his fellow man as humanly possible.

“I don’t want you wandering around outside on your own anymore, Michael,” Loomis said in his sternest voice as he pulled Michael into another tight hug. “There are far too many unstable individuals in our society nowadays. They prey on the weak and innocent, which is probably why you were targeted.”

Michael actually took being called innocent as a compliment. Back at the sanitarium, he had been called some pretty hurtful things. He had also been treated like a monster and a convict from a very young age. If it hadn’t been for Loomis... But Michael was not _weak_. If left alone, he could be fairly independent and resourceful. Allowing himself to be locked in the boathouse was not a sign of weakness but one of carelessness. He would remain vigilant from now on to ensure that something like that never happened again.

“If I am not around, you may have Jason accompany you down to the lake... or wherever it is you wish to go. However...”

The change in his father’s tone caused Michael to look up. He recognized that tone very well. It was how Loomis sounded when he was about to give one of his lectures.

“I don’t want you going downstairs at night while he is staying in our home. In fact, I’d rather you not be alone with him in any secluded place, especially at night.” Loomis began to look uncomfortable as he continued with his warning. “There are things that a man like him might want to do with you, Michael. Things that you won’t understand or are not prepared for. It seems like his intentions towards you are good, but he is much older than you. He will probably have expectations...”

What kind of expectations was Loomis referring to? Michael knew that Jason liked to touch him and embrace him, and he was okay with that. The physical contact was one of the things he looked forward to whenever Jason appeared out of nowhere. And someday - hopefully soon - Michael hoped that Jason would remove his bizarre hockey mask so that they could do something he had only witnessed a handful of times in his life. Something that Loomis might not approve of. Whether his father was okay with it or not, Michael fully intended to let Jason kiss him... if that’s what the older man wanted to do. That was what Loomis was hinting at, wasn’t it? The kissing? Because what else was there?

“Anyhow, it’s getting late and you should be resting.” Ruffling Michael’s hair one last time, Loomis got up from the bed and switched off the bedside lamp. “Remember what I said, Michael. No sneaking outside. I don’t know how you do it...” He gave Michael a puzzled look before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “Just please don’t do it. Goodnight, Son.” Then Loomis was out the door and headed for his own bedroom.

Lying back down in the bed, Michael began to sleepily stroke his kitten. As wretched as his night had been, he couldn’t deny that he liked all the attention he had gotten from both his father and Jason. He had never imagined that Loomis would ever allow Jason inside their home. Not only that, but Loomis had even attempted to have a polite conversation with Jason over fish sticks and tea. And aside from warning Michael to be careful, Loomis had not forbidden him from spending time with the man. That meant that Loomis was warming up to Jason, didn’t it?

“Are you sleeping?”

Michael shot out of the blankets and backed against the headboard in fright the instant that he heard a voice by his bedside.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Scare was an understatement! Nobody had ever been able to get that close before without Michael noticing. How had Jason entered the room? The door was shut and so was the window. If Jason had opened and closed either of them, he had done so in an abnormally stealthy fashion.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.” Jason sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to sink a lot more than it had while Loomis was perched there. In the darkness of the room, his eyes were completely blacked out inside the eyeholes of his hockey mask. He was wearing his old work pants again, as well as a ragged t-shirt, but the button down shirt he had been wearing overtop was gone. It was now far too easy to see how incredibly muscular his arms and chest were. “I didn’t know,” he continued, not seeming to realize how uncomfortable his proximity was making Michael. “Your father said that you can’t speak. I just thought you were really shy.”

If anything, Michael was painfully embarrassed. Here Jason was boldly sitting on his bed in the middle of the night and showing off his well built torso while Michael was cowering in the overly cute black and white sheep pajamas his father had picked out for him. It was Michael’s own fault for not wanting to go shopping for clothes in that dreadful shopping mall. But there had to have been less offensive pajama sets for sale that didn’t include ridiculously cute sheep.

“I heard him talking to you.” When Michael gave Jason a blank look, the older man quickly elaborated. “Your father. He was in here asking you questions. But if you can’t speak, how do you communicate with him?”

Michael pointed to the drawing pad and pencil that were still lying on the bed.

“You write your answers on this?” Jason picked up the drawing pad and made a confused sound. “What’s this? There are only crazy pictures. Where are the words?”

That was not a question that Michael knew how to answer. His responses were limited to what he was capable of drawing, and there was no way for him to express his inability to use words in pictorial form.

“Draw me something.” Jason flipped the pages over until he got to a fresh one, then eagerly shoved the drawing pad at Michael.

No, that was _not_ how it worked. Giving Jason a look of frustration, Michael placed the drawing pad back down onto the comforter. He didn’t draw out of a need to be artistic or because he felt like sharing his thoughts and feelings with his father. He only picked up the drawing pad and pencil in order to answer questions. If Jason was not going to ask a question, then Michael was not going to draw anything.

Not understanding why his request had been refused, Jason picked up the pencil and pressed it into Michael’s hand. “I want to understand you better,” Jason insisted in a rather gruff tone. “If I’m going to take care of you, I have to know how to _talk_ to you.”

That comment caused Michael to feel very flushed and nervous. The thought of that big, powerful man _taking care_ of him made his heart flutter in a most unnatural way. Was this what it felt like to be in love? Did Jason love him? But how could Jason possibly love someone who was as broken and dysfunctional as Michael? Why would Jason want to burden himself with a maladjusted mute? Self-doubt began to creep into Michael’s mind, reminding him of the reason why he had needed to be institutionalized in the first place.

“Don’t get upset.” Jason leaned across the bed to cup Michael’s cheek with one of his very large hands. “You’re complicated, I get it,” he said in the attempt to soothe Michael’s feelings. “I don’t care that you can’t speak. I still want you.”

Doing his best to avoid eye contact because he was so nervous he was trembling, Michael began to fidget with his hands. Jason wanted him. In what way? And for how long? Those words seemed to carry a lot of hidden meaning, but Michael could decipher none of it. He wondered if Loomis had said something similar to his ex-wife when they had first gotten together. Unfortunately, the ex-Mrs.Loomis hadn’t wanted Michael, which is why his new father was now a single parent. When had Loomis’ ex-wife stopped wanting him? In the past few years Loomis had revealed that his marital life was breaking down. That was how much his father loved and cared for him. He had made sure that Michael was made aware of the rocky marital relationship he was in before approaching the ex-Mrs.Loomis about assuming guardianship of Michael. So when Loomis’ wife refused and demanded a divorce, Michael knew that their marriage ending was not his fault. At least not directly. Although painfully ignorant about human relationships, Michael was not so naive as to think that he was not partially responsible for that divorce. Had they gone to marriage counseling like the ex-Mrs.Loomis requested, Loomis might still be married today. But, instead, Loomis had chosen to focus all of his energy and free time on Michael. In doing so, Loomis had essentially chosen Michael over the ex-Mrs.Loomis and doomed his marriage.

“Do you understand what that means?” Jason asked, abruptly interrupting Michael’s train of thought. His voice became aggressive as his hand found Michael’s on top of the comforter and gripped it possessively.

Michael peered up into Jason’s mask, finally able to see those piercing hazel eyes when that bear of a man leaned in closer. No, he did not understand what that meant. Reluctantly, he shook his head to indicate as much.

“That’s part of the reason why I chose you. Because you’re so innocent,” Jason told Michael, his voice a low pleased rumble. “It means that I will have you by my side one day,” he explained more forcefully. “When you are ready, I will _take_ you.”

The emphasis Jason put on the word ‘take’ caused Michael to blush, although he didn’t know why. Where was Jason going to take him? Perhaps it would be better to ask if Michael wanted to be ‘taken’ in the first place. There was something about the non-negotiable way Jason had informed him of his future that made him feel unbearably hot inside. He found himself helplessly attracted to the powerful man and his no-nonsense way of stating his intentions.

“In the meantime, if any man tries to touch you - or hurt you - I will _kill_ him,” Jason stated with a cold determination that stunned Michael. “The man responsible for locking you in that boathouse...” Jason gripped Michael’s hand tighter with the one hand while the other began to caress Michael’s face. “When I catch him, I will hack him to pieces with my axe. Then I will mount his head on my machete and set it on fire.”

In response to that horribly violent imagery, Michael could only stare at Jason in disbelief. He had heard some pretty deranged threats while residing at Smith’s Grove, but the patients responsible for uttering them hadn’t been entirely serious. Jason, on the other hand, sounded completely sincere. Although slightly creeped out by the descriptive nature of Jason’s homicidal desire, Michael couldn’t help but wonder how differently he would be treated out in public if accompanied by such a hulking predator. No one would dare shove him or shout at him if Jason were nearby. Immediately, Michael began to feel guilty for his thoughts because of all the sacrifices Loomis had made to protect him. Violence was not the answer to all his problems. His father had taught him that the human brain was a much more powerful tool than any sharp object could ever be. Weapons were bad. Knives were dangerous. So then why did Loomis own two guns? And why did Jason roam around the woods with a machete?

“You’re thinking too much,” Jason grumbled when Michael continued to think about the mixed messages he was getting from his father as well as Jason’s volatile personality. “You’re much prettier when you’re relaxed.”

How could Michael relax when Jason was so close, touching and visually inspecting him? On the pillow on the opposite side of the bed, Michael’s new kitten hissed when Jason leaned in even closer.

“You’re keeping that thing?” Jason asked as he gave the kitten a sideways glance.

Michael gave Jason a peculiar look and simply nodded. Kittens were not ‘things’, they were cute little balls of fur. Did Jason not like felines? He had been kind enough to break the chain that had been around the kitten’s neck. Maybe he was just one of those people who didn’t like animals indoors.

“Have you named it?”

It was not an it. _She_ was a female. And yes, Michael had chosen a name for her. Picking up the drawing pad and pencil, Michael quickly sketched the outline for a pumpkin.

“Pumpkin?” Jason asked in confusion. “It’s more brown than orange.”

Michael drew a very dark female gender symbol beside the pumpkin to get Jason to stop calling his kitten an ‘it’.

“Okay, it’s a _she_ ,” Jason said with a heavy sigh. “You’re pretty willful, aren’t you?” Seemingly smirking behind his mask, Jason’s eyes narrowed as his tone became challenging. “And what would you do if I said you can’t keep the cat?”

Michael narrowed his own eyes at Jason but not in a humorous way. He had spent nearly his entire life being told what he couldn’t do and what he couldn’t have. Nobody was going to tell him that he couldn’t keep Pumpkin, not even Jason.

“Good,” Jason praised as his thumb began to tenderly stroke Michael’s temple. “You’re cute when you’re feisty.” Then, to smooth over the tension between them, he said, “Of course you can keep the cat. It’s not my place to say what you can and cannot have.”

Was Jason testing him? Why would he be doing that? Feeling confused and not knowing what it was that Jason expected of him, Michael began to feel sullen and wary.

“Don’t become moody,” Jason said in a much gentler tone. “I just want you to feel comfortable around me. It’s okay for two people to joke and tease each other.”

No, it was not. Michael glowered at Jason and pulled his hand away. He had far too much experience with being teased and none of those memories were pleasant. If Jason was going to continue teasing him...

“Okay, no teasing,” Jason quickly corrected himself when he realized that Michael was distancing himself both physically and emotionally. “Who the hell hurt you like this?” He asked as he began to pet Michael’s thick curly hair.

Was the emotional and psychological baggage that Michael was carrying around that obvious? He felt a part of himself longing to share his most intimate secrets with Jason, to reveal what had been done to him back at the sanitarium. Jason wouldn’t judge him for it. If anything, learning what Michael had endured might make Jason even more protective of him. But Michael didn’t feel quite ready to part with those dark memories that his father was helping him overcome. The same painful memories that had triggered an inexplicable desire for that shiny knife that Jason kept tucked away inside his boot.

“I understand,” Jason said as he began to play with Michael’s curls. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” Moving in closer again, Jason began to appraise Michael as if he were admiring some rare artifact. “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

Thinking that Jason was about to give him another present, Michael obediently closed his eyes and waited.

“You’re perfect in every way,” Jason murmured as he shifted his weight on the mattress. “So pretty... so obedient.”

Michael shivered when Jason’s large hand pressed to the side of his face. The urge to open his eyes grew when he felt Jason’s calloused thumb stroking his lips. But he kept his eyes tightly shut for fear of disappointing the older man. When something hard and wet pressed against his bottom lip, Michael stiffened in nervous anticipation. Was that Jason’s mouth? Had his mysterious suitor removed that odd hockey mask? But if those were Jason’s lips, then why were they so hard? They were rough like leather, as well as thin and inflexible. Was this how being kissed was supposed to feel? Aside from Jason’s leathery lips, all Michael could feel were uneven teeth gently tugging on his lower lip. Michael had imagined that kissing involved two people pressing their lips together because that’s the only type of kissing he had been exposed to. How was he supposed to press his lips against Jason’s bared teeth?

“Keep your eyes closed,” Jason growled when Michael began to give into temptation.

A second later, Michael’s lips were forced apart by Jason’s tongue and then that tough muscle was exploring inside his mouth. The experimentation with Jason’s lips Michael could have done without, but _this_... this full on assault of Jason’s tongue was an unexpected treat. The sensation of that thick, wet tongue gliding between his lips, probing deep within his mouth, caused Michael to squirm. It made him feel hot and helpless but not at all uncomfortable. He didn’t care that Jason’s lips were a peculiar shape or that his teeth were misaligned. All he wanted was to welcome that tongue in deeper, to rub his own tongue against it and...

“ _Mmmph_...” Michael froze when the sound of his own whimper became audible to his ears. He had to have imagined it because he was incapable of producing any sounds. Even when injured, he could not moan with pain. Nor could he cry out for help if he were in danger. He couldn’t—.

“So, you _can_ make noises,” Jason’s low rumble sounded against Michael’s lips. “Your father said that you couldn’t. Or maybe he just doesn’t know...” Jason slipped his tongue back inside Michael’s mouth and began to kiss him slowly and wetly. He seemed to have no particular skill or style because he just hungrily licked at Michael and chased after his tongue. But it was that unpredictable aggressiveness that made the kiss so delicious and wonderful.

Michael strained up against Jason when the muscular man ended the kiss to begin licking down the side of his neck. Little gasps of air escaped him when the tip of Jason’s tongue traced along his pulse point before moving down to his collarbone. He felt the necklace Jason had given him being carefully moved aside by the man’s blunt fingers.

“One day, I will get you something nicer than this,” Jason promised right before he kissed the area of skin just above Michael’s pajama top. Then Jason was sinking his teeth into that tender spot as he held Michael down by his wrists.

Over the years Michael had been bullied, pushed around, and even hit on occasion, but no one had ever bitten him. It hurt - a lot - but more than it should have because he had trusted Jason. Why was Jason hurting him? He struggled, attempting to make a noise again but the only sound that left him was the sharp inhalation of air.

“Shhh, relax,” Jason said with the utmost tenderness as he kissed the spot he had bitten. “This is a love bite,” he explained. “It means that I love you.” When he raised his head to look at Michael, his hazel eyes widened in surprise. At least the one that was fully functional did. The left one was sunken deep into its eye socket and didn’t appear capable of natural movement. “I told you to keep your eyes closed,” Jason harshly reprimanded Michael. “Is this what you wanted to see?” He angrily released one of Michael’s wrists to gesture towards his ruined face. “Why couldn’t you just do as you were told?”

Ignoring Jason’s angry outburst, Michael curiously gazed up into the misshapen face of the man who had just confessed to loving him. Upon learning that the bite was some sort of courting ritual, Michael had immediately forgiven Jason for it. As Loomis was so fond of saying, _no pain no gain_. But he had been unable to keep his eyes closed after Jason’s soulful proclamation of love. He had wanted to see the face of the man who loved him. He honestly couldn’t understand why Jason was upset over it. What was so wrong with his face that he needed to keep it hidden? While the flesh surrounding Jason’s face was shriveled and wrapped around his skull in uneven strips, and the overall shape of his skull was bumpy and lopsided on top, there was nothing terrifying about him. At least not to Michael. Sure, Jason had no hair, his skin was a bizarre purplish-grey hue, and he was missing the tip of his nose, but those were not things that mattered very much. What was most important was that Jason was kind to him. Jason loved him. Why should Michael care about anything else?

Settling down a bit when Michael continued to calmly gaze up at him, Jason began to stroke Michael’s cheek. “Do you understand what you’re looking at?” Jason asked to be sure.

Yes, he was looking at Jason. But actually, no. Michael was more than a little mystified by Jason’s appearance. Accepting it was one thing, but understanding it was something entirely different.

“One day, I will explain everything to you. But not tonight.” Jason leaned down again but hesitated. Having revealed his face to Michael had made him extra cautious. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” When Michael shook his head, a relieved unformed smile tugged at the corners of Jason’s stiff lips. “Can I kiss you again?” When Michael nodded, Jason clumsily thrust his tongue back inside Michael’s mouth. But this time he lay down on the bed and pulled Michael into his arms.

Being embraced by that bear-like man was similar to being smothered by pure warmth and great big muscles. Michael didn’t mind his movements being restricted, not if it meant being held by Jason. The second kiss was less uncoordinated and more patient, making it seem as if Jason were holding back. As if he were appreciating the taste and feel of Michael in his arms. There was also no more biting and Michael was left free to wrap his own arms around Jason’s bulky torso.

Once the kiss ended, Jason embraced Michael tighter and breathed into his ear. “Goodnight, my angel.”

Filled with nothing but love and positive energy, Michael curled up against Jason and closed his eyes. He didn’t question the large man sleeping in his bed. He knew that they were both risking Loomis’ wrath if he walked in on them, but Michael was too happy to give it much thought. His father wanted him to be happy, didn’t he? And nothing made Michael happier than being with Jason. However, Michael fell asleep with one very persistent question on his mind. Had he really made a noise and what did it mean?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warnings for anything listed in the story tags.**

_It’s dead in here._

Jason had been dead before, so he knew what it felt like - cold, bleak and stagnant. Being hacked apart by his own machete and feeling his own life being extinguished like an unplanned grease fire had not been pleasant. Neither had waking up to the realm of existence he found himself in directly afterwards. Full of corpses, blood, entrails and disembodied spirits - the damned spirit world that Jason had been sucked into was very far departed from the heavenly afterlife that his mother had been so keen on being accepted into.

_“Heaven is a wonderful place, Jason. Only good people go to Heaven. And, one day, you will go there, too.”_

Oh, what an optimistic dreamer Pamela Voorhees had been! She had kept Jason happy and blissfully ignorant of his own shortcomings by filling his head with sweet promises and fantasies of what his future would be like. Entranced by his mother’s stories, Jason had found life more than tolerable on most days. And on really good days, he had even enjoyed living on the planet Earth with all its adversities, crime, and pollution. So long as his mother was with him, life was good. And Heaven? Jason couldn’t have wished to live out the rest of his days in a more beautiful paradise.

Was his mother in Heaven now? Or was she stuck in that endless sea of rejected human waste in the anti-Heaven? Jason hoped that wherever his mother was she was looking down on him with pride and satisfaction. Because Jason had survived against insurmountable odds. He had overcome his handicaps and evolved into something far more capable than a weak human. He was a predator, an executioner, a merciless force to be reckoned with. He lived by his own rules and defended his territory with lethal methods. He tolerated nothing and no one. And soon, he would become the man of his own house. He would take Michael for his own and create the happy family that his mother had always promised him.

“ _You’ll have your own family someday, Jason - a happy family, just like ours. You’ll grow big and strong... You’ll have to because your wife will expect you to be that way.”_

Well, Jason had grown much bigger and stronger than even his mother could have anticipated, but he had no intention of finding himself a wife. His mother had grown up in different times, which is probably why she had never allowed him to consider an alternative partner. Would she be angry if she discovered that Jason was lying with another man? Although quite young and far more beautiful than a man had any right to be, Michael was exactly that - a man. Pamela Voorhees had always been a very rigid and headstrong woman, but perhaps death had changed her. Maybe she would accept the partner whom Jason had chosen... Or maybe she wouldn’t. Jason would never know one way or the other so there was no point in dwelling on the question.

_What the hell is that?!_

Jason tensed up when a low thrumming sound began to vibrate from down below. It grew louder and louder before levelling off and calming down. A few seconds later, a strong blast of heat sailed upwards from the vent on the floor by the window. It must be that contraption that the richer folk called a furnace. Most of the houses down by the lake were heated with wood stoves or fireplaces. And why shouldn’t they be? It was more economical to chop up firewood and feed it to either a wood stove or fireplace - when needed - as opposed to keeping a furnace in operation all season long. There was an abundance of trees in the area, some of which were easily assessable after they had been damaged or blown down in storms. It was remarkably easy to scavenge for suitable things to burn, even for the most hopeless survivalist. And both wood stoves and fireplaces produced a gentle crackling that lulled people to sleep, not the startling noise of a futuristic spacecraft readying itself for departure. Jason didn’t know which was more intolerable, the absence of sound or the ruckus the furnace produced.

“No more dead air,” Jason muttered to himself as he climbed out of bed. Being as quiet as possible because Michael was terribly exhausted and in need of sleep, Jason crept over to the window. Very carefully, he pried the window open a few centimeters to allow the sounds of nature to permeate the room. A gush of fresh air immediately slipped through the narrow crack and flooded the area by the bed, bringing with it the sweet scents of Lenten rose and Winter Aconite. The landscaper who had chosen the flowers for Sam’s house had picked nice, hardy ones. They might even survive the long harsh winter that kept most people away from Crystal Lake. Nearby, the faint hammering of a woodpecker could be heard going away at one of the older trees in the backyard. A little further away, the maniacal laughter of a pair of foxes in play trailed down to the lake. That’s all there was to be heard - animal sounds and tree leaves rustling in the wind. In a few more weeks, all the branches would be bare and the howl of the wind would take over. Jason couldn’t wait for that to happen. He never grew tired of welcoming the changing seasons and their corresponding characteristics.

Returning to the bed, Jason pulled Michael back into his arms. Pumpkin the kitten wormed her way out from between them before Jason could accidentally crush her. The little ball of fur was so tiny and silent that Jason kept forgetting about her presence. What was Jason going to do with a feline? Although he was entirely confident that he could adjust his lifestyle in order to accommodate Michael, he still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure how to go about it. Figuring out how to care for his somewhat fragile new companion would require a lot of effort and concentration. Which was fine because Jason was no stranger to hard work and foreign obstacles. But a kitten? Would he have to feed that, too? What if it wandered off? Cats were testy, bad-tempered creatures. They did whatever they pleased and disappeared for days at a time with no explanation for their absence. If Michael wanted to keep the kitten, and Jason wanted to keep Michael, then Jason would automatically become responsible for the kitten. Wouldn’t he?

Jason had never imagined that he would find a life partner who would love and accept him, especially given his terrifying appearance and violent nature. While Michael had yet to learn about Jason’s extracurricular activities, he _had_ seen Jason unmasked. If Michael had fallen so deeply for Jason that he was willing to overlook the horror that was Jason’s face, then he would most likely forgive - or at least turn a blind eye to - the grisly murders that Jason was responsible for as well. Or... so Jason hoped.

“Are you cold?” Jason gruffly asked when Michael’s breathing sped up a bit. Whether it had been intentional or not, he had woken up his bedmate.

Michael slowly shook his head to indicate that the air from outdoors was not bothering him. But he pressed closer against Jason’s chest, obviously seeking warmth or comfort, so Jason held him tighter.

“All this indoor air is bad for you,” Jason said by way of explanation. Not that he really felt the need to explain himself. He would do whatever he thought was in Michael’s best interests. He loved Michael so much it was driving him mad with longing. There were no limits to what he would do for the one he loved. He would protect and provide for Michael while improving the quality of his life. However, there was one obstacle preventing him from truly claiming the blue-eyed angel for himself - Michael’s father. Unfortunately for Jason, Sam seemed to be a necessary component of Michael’s life. In fact, Jason sensed that Michael’s emotional and psychological well-being hinged on that relationship moving forward unhindered. Knowing that forced him to speculate on what kind of abuse Michael had been subjected to that had left him with such an obvious crutch in his life.

Then again, perhaps it was wrong of Jason to think of Sam in such a way. Had Pamela still been alive, Jason would have been just as loyally attached to her. So long as the parent was good, there was no harm in keeping the bond between mother and child - or father and son - intact. Anyway, it was not Sam’s fault that Michael had been targeted and indirectly assaulted. Sam was not the bad person. Jason himself was.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispered bitterly to Michael. He bent his head to kiss Michael’s forehead, his large hand petting the errant curls that were spread out against his chest. When Michael didn’t stir, Jason’s jaw tightened with anger. But not at Michael. “I should have known. I should have kept you safe.” Michael’s breathing was slow and even. Jason could confess to his heart’s content and Michael would wake up not having heard a thing. “It won’t happen again.” Jason was not usually in the habit of swearing anything to anyone, unless it was the vengeance that he routinely promised his mother. So he was a little bit surprised by how easily he promised the same allegiance to Michael. Or maybe he wasn’t. He _had_ had his eye on Michael from day one, after all.

From somewhere down by his feet, Jason felt something sharp take a swipe at his toes. _Pumpkin_. What a ridiculous name for a cat. Jason would have named it something dangerous like _Fang_ , _Reaper_ , or _Parasite_. If the cat had a strong name, it would mature into a strong creature. There was nothing intimidating about the name _Pumpkin_. Then again, it was somewhat cute and amusing that Michael had named his new pet after a Halloween fruit.

Where animals were concerned, Jason was more of a canine person. Dogs could be taught to hunt, attack, and give chase. They were useful creatures to have around because they obeyed their master and whatever commands they were given. A number of years ago, Jason had been regularly accompanied by a stray Labrador he had come across down by the lake. It had been a mangy, ugly thing with a lame leg and an unfriendly face, but one look at Jason was all it took for the dog to decide on his future home and master. After that first encounter, Jason hadn’t been able to rid himself of the slobbering mutt. It had followed him everywhere until Jason eventually gave in and let _Snarl_ move in with him. Living in the wild had turned the dog quite savage, so the name fit. If Jason wanted a deer taken out from across the meadow, Snarl did just that. If the pheasant that Jason had mortally injured disappeared into the underbrush, Snarl located the missing fowl in record time. In exchange for Snarl’s companionship and assistance in his daily life, Jason put a roof over the dog’s head, fed it, bathed it, and occasionally played with it. To say that he had been upset and disappointed when the dog disappeared one day would have been an understatement. However, in all fairness, Snarl had probably done what Jason had trained it to do - survive. After Jason had been killed, he had spent months buried underground in a pauper’s grave. During that time, Snarl had either grown hungry or lonely and wandered off, never to be seen again.

Jason peered down into Michael’s face to make sure that he was still sleeping. He felt a sharp clenching in his chest when he saw how innocent and beautiful Michael looked while peacefully asleep. Nothing pretty ever wanted to associate with Jason, but here was the loveliest angel sleeping in Jason’s arms. Michael loved him and trusted him, despite how menacing he looked and the power he was capable of wielding. No one had ever loved Jason before, aside from his own mother and that mutt. It seemed almost surreal knowing that he now had a chance at a normal, happy life with Michael - a life that had been stolen from him at a very young age. And he was indeed happy. Happier than he could ever remember being. Many decades of his life had been filled with rage, regret and depression, although mainly rage. What would the remainder of his life look like with Michael in it? They would of course live together in Jason’s little shack down by the lake. Pumpkin would either stay put or run off upon seeing the state of poverty that Jason lived in. Perhaps they could get a dog instead...

“There is nothing more loyal than a dog,” Jason said aloud, quoting something he had heard one of the campers say a long time ago.

All of a sudden, Michael was wide awake and shoving away from Jason. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and frantically scanned the room for some unseen evil.

“What is it?” Jason reached for Michael, only to have his arm whacked away. Whatever Michael was searching for he was terrified of because he was trembling badly. Was it the residual effects of a nightmare or was it something that Jason had said? “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?” Jason asked in disbelief. He ended up feeling like a callous fool when Michael glared at him accusingly. There was no need to confirm the reaction. Those shiny big blue eyes said it all. “There’s no dog in here,” Jason said calmly as he placed his hand on Michael’s arm. When Michael continued to resist him, Jason got out of bed to prove that the bedroom was safe. Pulling on his hockey mask, he withdrew his knife and made a show of combing the room for an invisible canine. He threw open the closet door to reveal a perfectly ordered wardrobe of nicely ironed shirts, slacks, cardigans and jackets. _What the hell?_ None of the articles of clothing looked like something Michael would want to wear. Sam was obviously the one doing all the shopping, but why? Was it because Michael had his fashion dictated to him, or because Michael didn’t wish to pick out his own clothes? Next, Jason pulled the chair out from the desk to show Michael that there was no dog hiding under it. When he pushed the chair back in, he accidentally bumped the desk, which caused something on it to make a clear ringing sound. He then lay down on the floor and kicked one of his long legs under the bed to prove that there was nothing lurking there either. “See? No dog,” he said reassuringly.

The next thing Jason knew, the bedroom door was being hastily opened by a bleary eyed Sam. “What in the blazes is going on in here?!”

Maybe Jason had yanked the closet door open a bit too hard. “He’s afraid that there’s a dog in here,” Jason blurted out in as rude a manner as possible to cover up his presence in Michael’s bedroom. He had been explicitly told to stay away from both the bedroom and the bathroom while Michael was in it. While he hadn’t promised to do so, Sam had been under the impression that his warning had been understood.

“What on earth gave him _that_ idea?” Sam charged into the room and went straight to Michael. “Were you talking about dogs?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged Michael tightly. “There are no dogs in here, Michael. Only an unwelcome house guest who refuses to obey the rules.” Then, upon seeing Jason’s knife, Sam gestured wildly for him to sheathe it.

“How was I supposed to know that he was afraid of dogs?!” Jason shot back indignantly as he carefully slid the knife into the back of his pants. He prepared to get into an unholy verbal battle with Sam’s father over both the subject of dogs and what he was doing in Michael’s bedroom, but Sam gave him a look and shook his head to indicate that such a confrontation was unnecessary.

Instead, Sam looked at Michael and then nodded to the chrome plated bell that was sitting on the edge of the desk. “Did you ring the bell?”

Michael slowly shook his head, then looked at Jason by way of explanation.

“I knocked it by accident,” Jason confessed, wondering what the big deal was with the bell. Was it an expensive heirloom or something? Was he going to get into trouble every time he touched something or attempted to get close to Michael?

Sighing tiredly, Sam got up and repositioned the bell so that it was within reach of Michael. “He often has nightmares... and many things trigger him. I gave him this bell so that he could wake me up if he needs me.”

Jason didn’t understand what Sam meant by ‘trigger’, but he did understand nightmares. What traumatic incident - or _incidents_ \- would have caused Michael to have so many nightmares that he would need a bell by his bedside? While he had known from the beginning that Michael was a very complicated young man, he never would have guessed the extent of emotional and psychological trauma that his love interest was dealing with. What had been done to Michael in the past? And who had left him in such a state?

“Jason, please come downstairs with me.” After coaxing Michael into lying back down under the blankets, Sam stalked out of the room and past Jason. “That is not a request,” he emphasized when Jason lingered by the door.

Seriously annoyed to have Sam treating him like a disobedient child, Jason first returned to the bed to secretly give Michael a kiss. He pushed his mask aside, bent down, and kissed his angel firmly on the lips. Much to his relief, Michael kissed him back and gave him a warm look of affection that indicated all was forgiven. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he promised before following Sam downstairs.

Once they were in the kitchen, Sam turned to address Jason but was interrupted before he could even begin.

“Where’s your woman?” Jason asked accusingly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your woman,” Jason repeated angrily. “Michael’s mother.” There were no pictures anywhere in the house of a woman who could have been Michael’s mother. In fact, there were few pictures at all. The only pictures on display were recent ones with Sam and Michael looking awkward together. The warmest picture had been taken inside the house within the past two weeks. It was a slightly out of focus photo that had no doubt been taken with the countdown timer and the camera placed on a piece of furniture. In the photo, both father and son were sitting on the sofa. Sam had his arm around Michael, and Michael was holding what looked like a wrapped present. Was it a birthday present? When was Michael’s birthday? Jason still had no idea. Michael kept that photo on display in his bedroom in a smooth wooden frame. If Michael was being treated kindly by his father, then that left the mother as the abuser. That had to be why there were no pictures of her and why Sam was no longer wearing a wedding band. If the woman had just died, both father and son would have been in mourning over her. They wouldn’t have gone out of their way to erase her existence from their lives.

“If you are referring to my ex-wife, she is now living in California,” Sam said evenly. “As for Michael’s mother... She is a different woman entirely.”

“What?” Jason didn’t get it. He had never been particularly good at following human relationships.

Now looking uncomfortable, Sam lowered his voice and began to choose his words carefully. “Are your feelings for Michael genuine?”

“What kind of shitty question is that?” Jason had to use all his restraint to not punch Sam’s head off.

“I have to make sure before I tell you this because Michael has become quite attached to you. If I tell you what I’m about to tell you... and you lose interest in him...” Sam looked more than a little depressed at the concept. “You’ll break his heart.”

Immediately, Jason calmed down and forced himself to act like the civilized suitor that he wished Sam to see. “I won’t lose interest in him. I’ve already decided,” he said bluntly. “I want Michael and only Michael. I won’t ever hurt him,” he promised. He sensed that what Sam was about to tell him was extremely sensitive and important. The fact that Sam was trusting him with such information meant the world to him. The more he understood about Michael, the better he would be able to care for him.

“Michael’s parents abandoned him a long time ago. Nobody knows where they went or how to contact them. I became Michael’s legal guardian not that long ago, which is why we still have a few kinks to work out in our relationship. Suddenly becoming a father at my age is... well, you can imagine that it hasn’t been easy.”

Jason was too shocked to agree or disagree with what Sam had just said. Sure, there were a lot of unnatural interactions between father and son, but that made the relationship seem all the more realistic. The fact that they were not related by blood explained their physical differences. However, the bond between them seemed a lot stronger than a lot of actual parent-child relationships that Jason had seen in the past. He never would have guessed that Sam was not Michael’s actual father.

“As for why Michael is afraid of dogs... I unfortunately don’t have the answer to that. Perhaps he experienced something traumatic in his childhood, or...”

“Someone hurt him,” Jason practically growled.

“Yes, someone did hurt him,” Sam said with a white hot anger that matched Jason’s own. “And when I found out, I made sure to exact punishment before having that animal removed from Michael’s life.”

“Was it his real father?” Jason asked, instantly regretting his words when Sam flinched at the word ‘real’.

“No.” Sam sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for Jason to do the same. “When Michael was a young boy, he did something very bad. And for that, he was placed in a mental institution for most of his life.”

Sitting down did not help brace Jason for that startling information. “What did he do?” He demanded to know.

“He stabbed his older sister on Halloween.”

“Did she die?”

“Did she—?” Sam looked flabbergasted. “She was hospitalized for a time, but no, she didn’t die.”

“Then why was Michael punished?”

“Jason, Michael tried to kill his sister,” Sam rephrased the event for emphasis. “Had the ambulance gotten there any later and she would have died.”

“But she didn’t.”

Seemingly not seeing the distinction between murder and attempted murder, Sam again repeated the obvious. “An unprovoked attack with a knife is a very serious offence. Had Michael been any older at the time and he may have been dealt with in a more severe manner.”

“Being thrown into a mental institution is severe enough.” Jason clenched his fists on top of the table and began to grind his teeth. No wonder Michael was so screwed up. “Has he always been mute?”

“Apparently not. After the incident, he was found outside the house in a trance. From that point onward, he has not uttered a word to anyone.”

“Were you his doctor?”

“Yes, I became his psychiatrist after the first few gave up on him.” Sam appeared eager to discuss Michael’s past, as if he wished to share a burden that he had been carrying alone for a very long time. “From the very beginning, I sensed no malice or witnessed any violent tendencies in the boy. Aside from sharp objects triggering a trancelike state in him, Michael did nothing to warrant his continued stay in that institution. It had never been designed with children in mind, so there were no programs in place to educate him or socialize him with other children his age.”

“So you gave him that education?” It was not really a question that needed answering because Jason had already figured it out for himself. Sam had taken a liking to Michael, which was easy to understand, and had provided him with everything that he’d been lacking inside that facility. Which had led to Sam developing a fatherly attachment to his patient. Realizing for the first time what kind of person Sam really was, Jason discovered that he respected him a lot more than he cared to admit.

“Yes. And that was when my involvement with Michael began to interfere with my marriage. I stopped coming home on time for dinner, I neglected to phone my wife during my lunch break - if I bothered to take one - and I was basically on call 24-7 should Michael need me. It was perhaps sometime before Michael’s fifteenth birthday when my wife pleaded with me to take a vacation. We were to travel to The Bahamas and stay there for a little over a week. My wife planned all the activities and made all the arrangements... It was to be the most exciting trip since our honeymoon.”

Jason had no idea where The Bahamas were and wasn’t at all interested in what activities Sam had done with his wife. But he was beginning to dread where the conversation was headed. “So what happened?”

“Smith’s Grove - the sanitarium where Michael was staying - arranged for a replacement psychiatrist to treat Michael in my absence.” There was no mention of what Sam and his wife had done on their vacation or how it had gone. Sam just jumped straight to the chase. “When I returned, I was told that the sanitarium had tried to reach me several times over the course of the week. After the second day, Michael had become withdrawn and depressed. He was refusing to eat and would not willingly enter his sessions with Doctor Miller, the substitute psychiatrist. On the third or fourth day, he was found in tears hiding behind furniture in the rec room or inside the kitchen. He was small for his age and made not a sound, so it sometimes took an hour or two before anyone found him. Some of the staff were concerned while others were annoyed. But they all chalked it up to him having an unhealthy attachment to me... Until I saw him for myself. How nobody noticed is beyond me, but it was obvious almost immediately that Michael had been physically abused. There were bruises that were visible and others that I discovered which weren’t. And when I asked Michael to point out the person who had hurt him, he drew me an astoundingly good portrait of Doctor Miller. According to Michael’s drawings, Doctor Miller had used the restraints on him and repeatedly beaten him for not speaking.”

“Did you kill him?!” Jason roared in outrage. How dare that sick doctor treat Michael in such a horrible fashion?! Nobody would have come to Michael’s aid because he wouldn’t have been able to cry out for help. The doctor must have known that. “Sadistic motherfucker!” Jason swore, using a word that he had heard often but never had use for himself. There were no other words that would suffice for how much he hated Dr. Miller.

“Did I kill him?” For a second, Sam looked startled, but then he continued with just as much vehemence. “I would have liked to. I confronted him, we had a very loud argument, and I got a few well placed punches in before we were pulled apart. Several of his teeth were knocked in from what I understand... and his nose is now crooked... Afterwards, there was not much else I could do but have him charged for the abuse and cause him to have his medical license revoked.”

“I would have killed him.” Jason hadn’t intended his statement to belittle what Sam had done to avenge Michael. In the regular world, what Sam had done was quite exemplary. The man had risked his own position by attacking one of his brethren. He was just lucky that he had gotten justice for Michael without losing his own job in the process. But Jason lived by a different set of rules with far harsher forms of punishment. Most offences in Jason’s world were punishable by death.

“And I wouldn’t have stopped you,” Sam said in all honesty. “After that, Michael required a lot of counselling to get over the physical, psychological and emotional abuse. Although, he has never fully recovered. Living in such a place from such a young age... with a lack of constant supervision... I can only imagine what else he endured when I was not present.” Pulling himself out of what had to be awfully dark memories, Sam finished his story. “Earlier this year, it was decided that Michael would be released because he was no longer a danger to society. But how could he function in the outside world when he lacked the ability to communicate, had no family or friends, and not even a place he could call home? He was only twenty, but his emotional maturity was much lower than that. In today’s society, he would be taken advantage of and drawn into a life of crime or further abuse. I couldn’t bear to see that happen, so I told my wife that we would be taking Michael in. And... that was the end of my marriage. Now all I have is Michael.”

Jason watched Sam struggling to hold his emotions in check before he stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. Then he moved to the other side of the table, briefly gripped Sam’s shoulder hard enough to cause him to gasp, and exchanged an intense look with him. “I won’t leave Michael. And I won’t let anyone hurt him. I give you my word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. It was difficult for me to write some parts of it due to a recent experience involving a vicious dog. I had planned to delete all reference to the scene entirely... but thought it would be best to try and finish the chapter as I’d originally intended.
> 
>  ******* The reason for Loomis’ change of heart will be explained in the next chapter.


End file.
